StarCraft: The Story
by SaiyajinTemplar
Summary: I've begun to re-do this story, at several requests to do so. I will be adding in new things that were occurring at the same time in the game, but that no one who played it would know much about, due to the viewpoints. RR, please. New Ch. 1 up!
1. 1: The Wasteland expanded

**StarCraft**

**A/N: This is a little something I started some time ago... but at several suggestions, I am expanding upon it, and changing it around a bit. I hope you like the new version. It will still tell the story of the game, but it will add new viewpoints, and new twists. **

**-Saiyajintemplar**

**Legend:**

"..." – denotes speaking

'...' – denotes thinking

'...' (in italics) – denotes computer speech

**------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

**--Book I: Rebel Yell--**

In the decade that had passed since the end of the Guild Wars, the oppressive Terran Confederacy has stood unchallenged in its supremacy over Colonial space.

However, all of that changed four days before when a large alien fleet emerged without warning from warp-space and laid waste to the unsuspecting Confederate colony, Chau Sara.

The Confederacy, fearing that the alien fleet's next target will be the colony of Mar Sara, has called upon the Magistrate of that colony to intervene. His orders are to safeguard the colonists and prevent the state of panic from escalating any further.

**-Chapter One: Wasteland-   
**-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Command Center of the Colonial Magistrate   
Mar Sara Colony 19:53 SCT, 12 Dec 2499

Walking through the labyrithine corridors of the Command Center at this small mining complex, the Magistrate - henceforth known as Commander Randolph Yates - patted his full belly. He was heading for the main control room, and off to his left and behind him was the mess hall he had just left. They had served Italian, tonight. which was a welcome break from all the accursed rations that they'd been having to make do with. Colony life was usually better than this, but not when you're out in the middle of nowhere, in a tiny little mining town. 'I'm transferring back to the main city next chance I get,' he thought sourly. 'This is no place for a leader of a thriving colony world to be stuck.'

The contol room lay at the center of the massive building, and he was currently near the outer walls. A long walk, and several stairs to go down to get to his destination. But that didn't matter. He was in the military, and walking - no, marching - long distances was second nature to him. He reached the entranceway to the main stairwell that ran down into the depths, feeling a slight wave of vertigo as he looked down on the full stomach he had. It passed quickly, and he started down, at a slow, leisurely pace. He had no reason to hurry, or so he thought. He had no idea that his peaceful, boring little colony's life was about to be plunged into a nightmare from hell... nor that his live was about to be changed, forever.

After going down nearly twelve flights of stairs, he finally reached the floor holding the control room. Inputting his clearance code into the button panel beside the double doors, he stepped into the room as the doors slid noisily aside to permit his entry. His calm blue eyes swept around the chamber, noting that there was only one other person here. Not surprising, as it was evening. Most of the others in the building would be in the mess hall still, taking advantage of the ample chow, or in the rec lounge. Marines they all might be, but boring was still boring, and the men needed things to occupy their minds. The one other person in the control room, a young technician by the name of PFC Brian Miller, sat at one of the consoles, playing a losing game of chess against the main computer.

As the door slid open, the youth looked up... and at the sight of him, Miller came to his feet abruptly, leaving the chess game paused, and snapped to attention. As Yates stepped fully into the room, Miller gave off a crisp, flawless military salute, which was quickly returned. "At ease, Private," Yates said, his voice full of commanding authority. A relieved sigh came over Miller, and he let his arm drop, sitting back in the chair again. Looking about at the various consoles, Yates now stood behind Miller's chair, watching over his shoulder at the chess game. It was a pitiful sight, really. The computer had most of its major pieces remaining, with the exception of a Rook, both Knights, and a Bishop. Miller, however, had only two Pawns, a Bishop, and the King. After watching a moment more, Yates asked a question. "Anything happen while I was eating?"

Miller looked up at him a moment, a moment of disorientation on his face. Then he nodded, pointing one finger over toward the communications console. "Comp wants to talk to you, sir," he said, his accent faintly Southern United States-ish. "Said somethin' about the Confederates. I dunno." At Yates' nod, he turned back to the computer console... and less than five minutes later, he had lost the game. "Aw, dammit," he muttered, then started a new one. Yates, for his part, had lost interest, crossing over to the Comm station, wondering just what the computer had for him. Tapping a few keys, the computer came to life.

It requested his authorization code, which he quickly entered, now beginning to feel a bit nervous. 'Oh, what do they want now?' he thought, truly wondering. It had been months since the last Confederate contact, the one appointing him to the position of Magistrate after the last one had an unfortunate accident with food poisoning. He felt bad for the guy, but had stepped up with good military form and taken the position given him. The computer came to life now, an android-looking digital representation - or avatar - now facing him. '_Adjutant_ _online_,' it spoke, its voice clearly mechanical, yet with a hint of something else he couldn't tell.

_'Access codes accepted,'_ the computer continued. '_Good evening, Magistrate Yates. I'll fill you in on what's been happening: Confederate traffic has increased substantially within the system due to the recent Protoss destruction of the Chau Sara colony.'_ At this, Yates' stomach went cold. He had a very bad feeling about what was coming next. Sure enough, he was right. '_The Confederates have tightened security on all outlying systems, and it's likely that this colony will be locked-down as well. An encrypted Confederate transmission came for you while you were at dinner. Replaying transmission.' _For a moment, the digital avatar's face vanished from the screen, and all was silent. Then, the face of an aged Confederate, a General by the look of him, came on.

"Greetings, Magistrate. I'm General Edmund Duke of the Confederate Security Forces, Alpha Squadron." 'Just as I thought,' Yates mused. 'A general. And an arrogant one, at that.' "The Confederacy has quarantined this entire planet, and we'll proceed with the lock-down within 48 hours," Duke continued. The timestamp on this transmission indicated it was about an hour old. Which meant that there was about 47 hours left before the entire area was locked down tighter than a drum. "You are to relocate your core colonists to the outlying wastelands, and form a new outpost there. Now I know there won't be any problems with these new arrangements." And with that, the screen went dark a moment. Thinking in a daze, Yates was flabbergasted. He'd known it was bad, but not this bad. 'No problems, huh?' he thought angrily. 'Yeah, right. I have _plenty_ of problems with this.'

The computer's avatar reappeared on the screen a few minutes later, interrupting Yates' train of thought. _'Transmission ended,'_ the voice said. It was decidedly female, unlike systems of old back on Earth hundreds of years ago. _'I have contacted the local Marshal, James Raynor. Raynor has agreed to meet your personnel en route and escort them to the new wasteland site.'_ 'That can't have been easy.' he thought sourly. He knew Raynor - by reputation only, though - and he didn't seem the person to easily tolerate Confederates giving him orders. The man hated being bossed around, especially by Generals who looked older than God. 'Oh well. Better get moving, or else we're gonna get hell for it.'

As the computer watched impassively, he tapped out a series of commands into the console, activating the base-wide loudspeakers. When he was sure they were on, he began. "Attention all personnel." His voice reverberated around the facility, and throughout the small basecamp as well. "This is Magistrate Yates." He paused a moment, as if unsure as what to say... but then he continued, not noticing Miller's worried look. "As of now, 20:00 hours, we are moving to a new site." He could imagine the expressions on the people all throughout the tiny base. He winced. "The Confederacy has ordered a lockdown of the entire planet. All buildings are to commence liftoff procedures, and all units and buildings are to proceed with all haste to the coordinates the computer will provide. That is all."

Signing off from the loudspeaker system, he let a heavy sigh escape him. It was time to get moving. Within minutes, the control room was once again fully staffed. and they initiated the liftoff procedure. The massive building slowly rose into the sky, trembling a bit as it did so. Soon, the computer had provided coordinates to the now-airborne base, and the buildings began their slow crawl to the Wasteland site. A squadron of Marines, and the SCV's that were mining the area began to form up, moving along as an escort, eyes peeled, always ready for trouble. They weren't expecting any, but one thing the Academy always taught was to expect the unexpected. Gauss rifles on their shoulders, the Marines began their march. As they moved along, one of the SCV pilots, a wise-crackin' civilian named Jon Marx, began to complain. "Man, I can't believe we're being sent to the Wasteland. These Confederates think they can push anyone around."

Across the system, on the other side of Mar Sara's massive orange sun which ordinarily nursed and sustained two habitable worlds - being Mar Sara and Chau Sara - in the black depths of space, a glistening fleet of golden and turquoise metal hovered. A monstrous armada of alien starships of all shapes and sizes floated placidly near the blackened ruin that was once Chau Sara. Indetectable sensor sweeps stabbed outward from the lead starship in the flotilla, probing the planet for any signs of life. After but a brief moment, the sensor's 3-d holographic screen displayed the results: _No life-forms detected._ Chau Sara was now naught but an empty, airless rock in space, sterilized of anything and everything living.

Aboard this lead starship, a lone being stood at the command rail of the vessel's bridge, gazing out a crystalline viewport at the rocky waste below. "This planet has been sterilized, Judicator," he said. Though yet, he also _didn't_ say it... as he had no mouth. Nor, for that matter, did _any_ of the Protoss have mouths. They all communicated via telepathy, both amongst themselves, and with lesser races. "There is no further trace of the Zerg here." The proud commander's shoulders sagged ever so slightly, and the motion was picked up on by the Protoss standing in the shadows.

"Well done, Executor," the Judicator said, stepping out of the shade and into the bluish glow that emitted from a number of nearby Khaydarin Crystals. "Remember, Tassadar..." Aldaris said, interpreting the younger warrior's body language as dissent, and rightly so. "The Zerg are a severe danger to us, and the Conclave has dictated that you cleanse all the worlds in this sector, so as to prevent their spread. If they are allowed to find Aiur, then we will have a war of unimaginable proportions on our hands."

Tassadar turned to face his nemesis, the Judicator advisor that the Conclave had assigned to watch over him and report back on him. Aldaris was not too well liked by any Protoss, least of all anyone that belonged to the Templar caste... as Tassadar did. He had a tendency of taking his views out of context to a dangerous degree, and several times had executed fellow warriors for suspected treason, even if nothing could be proven. One could say that he was zealous to the Khala, their guiding principle and dogma... albeit a little _too_ zealous. Zealous to the point of blind ignorance and heresy. "I know full well the orders of the Conclave, Aldaris," the young Templar finally replied. "But it seems wrong to me. It goes against all our principles, the most important of which is that of Dae'Uhl!" The _Dae'Uhl_, or _Great Stewardship_, as it is translated, was the practice of the Protoss to watch over and protect all those races that fell under the shadow of their empire, as a parent would protect a child from harm.

Originally, the Terrans in this area of space fell under the Protoss' protection, even though the Terrans were too hostile, and too edgy and confrontational to contact directly with a peace mission. In addition, they knew nothing of their unknown protectors. So, the Protoss would simply watch and wait, and protect the fledgling humans from any dangers that came their way.

Until, that was, a passing Protoss Observer that was running a routine scouting mission through this system had detected the presence of something animalistic and alien... but that like them, utilized the sacred Khaydarin Crystals, which had devastating ramifications. This was the coming of the Zerg to the Terran sector, having infested the world of Chau Sara with hundreds of thousands of Creep Spores. When the Observer probe brought back a sample of the Creep Spores back to Aiur and they were tested, they were found to be also created by the Xel'Naga – the ancient, now-extinct race that had created the Protoss themselves - and were thus deemed extremely dangerous. An emergency session of the Protoss Conclave was convened, and the decision was made to destroy the Terrans and their worlds in order to destroy the threat that this alien race – called the Zerg - posed. This would prove unsuccessful, though they did not know it yet.

And so a great expeditionary force - nearly one-third of the entire Protoss starfleet - was assembled, and Tassadar, as Executor, was placed in overall command of the mission. His orders: to completely destroy the Terran worlds where the presence of Creep Spores were detected... and to leave no one alive. Aldaris was assigned to his ship, the Carrier _Gantrithor_, to keep an eye on the young Templar, and ensure that the Conclave's will was carried out. So far, the elder Judicator was satisfied. But he could tell that Tassadar was wavering in his duty... that he thought this mission was wrong to begin with.

"Executor!" came a shout from the front of the command-section, drawing both Tassadar's and Aldaris' attentions. As they turned around, a medium aged Prelate that was in command of the sensor section approached them, and saluted. The Protoss salute was a palm flat against the chest, and then extended straight out at a 90-degree angle. Tassadar returned it, while the red-scaled Judicator beside him merely stood there in his arrogance. "Our sensor scans have picked up another signature of the Zerg Spores, sir!"

Aldaris' eyes flashed immediately, lit from within by some unknown radiance. Tassadar's eyes flashed once as well, only his eyes were a deep cobalt blue in color, compared to the Judicator's fiery-red ones. "What is the location of the signatures, Prelate?" the Executor asked, having a bad feeling that he knew what the answer was going to be. When he had given the order to destroy Chau Sara, he had taken some comfort in the knowledge that at least some Terrans had gotten safely off-world. Next time, they might not be so fortunate.

"Sir, the signatures are coming from the other major planet in the system," the Science officer replied. "The world that the Terrans call Mar Sara." Tassadar's heart sank as he heard these words, as he could almost predict verbatim what Aldaris' words were going to be after this. But the Prelate wasn't even done with his report. "Our sensors also detect a sizeable Terran population, that seems to be migrating across the face of the planet. The puzzling thing is, sir, that they are moving right next to one of the Creep Spores!"

Tassadar felt wracked with turmoil, and uncertainty. It was a given fact that the Terrans now knew that he and his people were in their space. Long-range sensors had spotted a rag-tag fleet of Terran starships heading this way under full sublight speed from their HQ on Tarsonis. Nowhere near a danger to his glistening fleet, but Tassadar wanted nothing more to do with interfering with this culture... and he also wanted to spare them the destruction that the Zerg would wreak upon them. 'I will just have to find a way to..._ bend_ the rules,' he thought to himself, 'to aid the Terrans and yet destroy the Zerg. I refuse to destroy them for no good reason, no matter _what _the Conclave dictates.'

But for the present, there was nothing much he could do. Mar Sara was his next destination... and though Aldaris had not spoken, he knew what the order was. Destroy the planet, and all its inhabitants. "Helm officer," he said, letting his shoulders sag a bit more. "Set course for the world known as Mar Sara. Speed: one-quarter sublight. We must cool our warp engines from the long journey here, lest they overload and cause a dimensional wormhole." He deliberately arranged this delay in arrival time, so as to give the Terrans that lived on Mar Sara the time they might need to evacuate the world. He could sense Aldaris' burning stare in the back of his skin... but he didn't acknowledge it. To do so would be to let the Judicator get under his skin.

And that was one thing that Tassadar did _not _want.

"Engage," the Templar said. The fleet moved out.

Having gotten a message from the Magistrate's command post, Marshal James Raynor had gone on ahead to a point rougly half-way from their current position and the new Wasteland site. He was angry about this, infuriated at the nerve of the Confederates. 'Just who do those bastards think they were kidding?' he fumed, thinking it over in the time he had before Yates arrived. 'If the Protoss want to destroy Mar Sara, moving us around like scurrying bugs wouldn't do a thing to stop it! They'll just blow the planet to dust, just as they did to Chau Sara!' But orders were orders, and he didn't want to risk the Confederate's fury... which was nearly legendary when someone dared cross them. So he agreed to meet the moving base half way, and escort them to their new destination. He sat atop his dented, patched Vulture speeder bike, a man of 29 years... somewhat resembling a wrestler from Earth in the 1990's. A pencil-thin mustache and goatee adorned his face, and his bright blue CMC-400 Marine's armor was blackened in places. In addition, across one shoulderpad of the combat suit was scrawled the letters B I G, giving him that rough, frontiersman look. Not that he minded.

About two hours later, he awoke from a light doze and looked off to the north. There, a small group of buildings were floating slowly toward him. The mobile base, right on time. Coming fully awake and alert, he kick-started his Vulture, speeding off to intercept the convoy. Within minutes, he reached it, and pulled up in front of the leader of the Marine squadron, Sergeant Robert Keller. Raynor saluted, and Keller's group came to a halt, saluting him in return. "Howdy, boys," Raynor said, in a Southern drawl not unlike PFC Miller's. "I'm Jim Raynor, Marshal of these parts. I'll be your escort to the Wastelands."

Keller stepped forward, offering his hand to Raynor, who shook it firmly. "Glad to have you with us, sir," he said, in awe of the man before him. "Sergeant Robert Keller, Mar Sara Defense Militia, Third Squadron." As Raynor swung his bike around beside them, they set off again, at a slow and steady pace so as not to outrun the buildings hovering over their heads. The trip for the most part was quiet, but as they came over the hill just outside their new area, a faint animal-sounding squeal echoed off the cliffs around them. "What the hell was that?!" Keller shouted, snapping up his rifle in reflex. He scanned the area, but could see nothing. "Hmm, that's strange. Stay frosty, men. I don't think we're alone here."

They continued moving again. They had barely gone twenty steps before two orange creatures, looking about the size of German shepherds, came leaping out at them. The marines and Raynor responded instantly, mowing the two creatures down with a hail of machine-gun fire. When they fell, it took their cries a moment to dissipate, still echoing. Keller walked over to one, kneeling down and looking at it with disgust. "What is this thing?" he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. He stood up again, and gave the dead monster a hideous kick... but no one had an answer for him, as they were all as mystified as he.

They had no further encounters with the bizarre dog-like things, and all the buildings set down in the Wasteland safely. Raynor, though, was still thinking about the attack. The creatures were purely alien, looking only faintly like dogs. They were truly a fearsome sight, almost entirely made up of fangs and razor-sharp claws. They would have to be on guard, in case more of them were lurking in the area. In the meantime, though, the buildings continued to settle down, kicking up small clouds of dust as their landing pads touched the ground, and the SCVs scurried over to the small mineral patch there. The Wasteland base had just become another mining town.

SCV's buzzed back and forth. One minute they were at a patch of mineral crystals, laying into them with their fusion cutters... and then, they would move back to the Command Center with a hunk of crystal in their hands, and dump them into a large chute located on the side of the building. This helped serve as power for the colony, and also raw materials to build things with.

Keller and his squad established a patrol, in the unlikely event that more creatures decided to rear their ugly muzzles. Sure enough, not too far had they gone to the east of the encampment, when the familiar roar echoed out. Three more of the dog-like monsters popped up, from the ground itself. Caught half by surprise, the marines hesitated, then opened fire. One of the monsters went down immediately, but the other two took down four of the squad before they were killed. After that, no other threats showed themselves, andthe Marines patrolled on.

Afterward, when they were certain and satisfied that the area was clear, the squad retired inside the Barracks, marching up the steps in perfect synchronicity. Wasteland Station was firmly established... and for the time being, safe.

Now all that remained was to see just what the Confederates had in mind, totry to figure out just what in hell those monsters were... and hope that the alien Protoss didn't decide to blow their planet right out from under them.

-End Chapter One-

A/N: Like? Hate? Reviews and constructive criticism/ideas are much appreciated. I will be redoing all the chapters I have posted, and will be posting new chapters soon. Enjoy!


	2. 2: Backwater Station and 3: Desperate Al...

A/N: Here's chapter two. The wasteland installation has to investigate a call for help from Backwater Station. As always, reviews are appreciated. I STILL don't own Starcraft. *pout* And also, thanks go out to Dark-Elk for his generous offer, and I may well want to put this thing on Shattered Enigma.  
  
-Chapter Two: Backwater Station-  
  
Command Center of the Colonial Magistrate Mar Sara Colony, Wasteland Site 07:12 SCT, 13 Dec 2499  
  
With the Wasteland Station firmly established the night before, Yates, Raynor, and the militia had retired, leaving a small platoon of troops to patrol the perimeter. ordering that constant vigilance be maintained in the event of more alien attacks. But no more came, thankfully, and awakening at 06:30, Yates had eaten breakfast in the messhall. Eggs and toast, not too bad. Again, it was far better than the rations they were stuck with before. Getting a few good cooks into the complex had done wonders for morale. Once the breakfast was finished, he moved outside the mammoth command center, walking about outside for a short time.  
  
Taking a small and leisurely stroll around the small complex, he passed by the Supply Depots with their massive air-conditioner fans. then by the Academy, then past the Vespene refinery, where a few SCVs came and went, taking bits of the valuable gas with them. Finally, when he reached the Barracks, Marshal Raynor came out to meet him. The two shook hands, both with grins on their faces, and Yates kept walking, Raynor by his side. "Hey, what's up, man?" he drawled, still smiling. "Sergeant Keller and I got yer refugees tucked in nice and snug. Provided we can sidestep anymore surprises from the Confederates, and if we can keep them away from those damned alien critters, they should have an easy time."  
  
Nodding once, Yates agreed. "Indeed. does anyone have a clue as to just what those things were?" he asked, coming to a stop and watching Raynor for a response. The marshal shook his head, looking slightly irritated. "Hmm, figures." Yates continued, and the two men set to walking once more. They walked about the perimeter of the complex, and before long found themselves back at the entrance to the command center. Stepping in, with Raynor right behind him, he decided to head to the control room. "Marshal, have Sergeant Keller retrieve one of the bodies, and tell him to take it to the lab, so it can be analyzed. The sooner we know what these things are, the better."  
  
"I couldn't agree with you more, Commander." Raynor replied, his drawl as thick as ever. "I'll have 'im work on it." He would have said more, but before he could, Yates' wrist communicator went off with a shrill alarm. Mere seconds later, the entire building went to alert status, as the steady lighting began to pulse in angry red flashes. 'Priority alert! Priority alert!' the main computer squawked. Looking at each other for the briefest of seconds, Raynor and Yates tore off at a run now, hurrying to the control room two levels below them. When they reached it, the doors were already open. and it was fully staffed now. PFC Miller was seated at the ComSat radar screen, frantically scanning it for any source of impending danger.  
  
Stepping to the main computer interface terminal, Yates requested a tactical update on what was going on. The android-ish avatar was already there, and seemed to immediately dispense with its usual pleasantries. 'Priority alert,' it said again. 'Backwater Station, located three kilometers to our north, is under attack by unknown alien organisms.' A sharp gasp whistled through Raynor's teeth. He had a clue about what was attacking them. and he didn't like it. Most likely, the same things they'd dealt with just last night. 'Distress beacon detected, activated at 06:58. Alerting Confederate headquarters on Tarsonis. response detected. Stand by for incoming transmission.'  
  
The avatar went blank. A minute or so later, the face of the aged general - Edmund Duke, was his name - appeared in the screen. Not a recorded transmission. this was a live feed, directly from Tarsonis, which was far away from little Mar Sara. Raynor, Yates, and the rest of the room's occupants watched quietly, listening to the General's message. 'We've already received the distress beacon from Backwater, and we'll move in to take care of it.' Most of the faces watching went from interest to disdain in a matter of seconds. 'You just sit tight where you are, and you'll be notified if there's anything we think that you need to know.' The screen went blank, leaving a heavy silence in the wake of the message. The computer's avatar returned, quiet, emotionless.  
  
Raynor slammed his hands angrily on the console. "Damn him!" He whirled on Yates, fire in his eyes. He hated that General. anyone with any sense hated him. "Listen, Magistrate, if we wait for Confederate reinforcements, that station's gonna be dust." Around the room, there were silent nods of agreement, but none dared speak, afraid of incurring Raynor's wrath. "I'll head out there now, see what I can do," Raynor continued, moving to exit the room. "You send in some militia with me, and we'll save those folks. Trust me on it." And so he left, and the heavy double doors slid slowly shut behind him.  
  
Yates was frozen a moment more, looking after him. Then with a grim determination, he turned back to the console, activating the communicator. "Sergeant Keller, form up your squad and meet Marshal Raynor outside in five minutes. We have a mission." Cutting off the terminal, he hurried out of the room. Grabbing a gauss rifle from the armory on his way out, he practically ran toward the entrance, hoping to catch up with Raynor. He did, just as the Marshal was walking down the ramp that led up to the command center. "Jim, wait up!" he called. Raynor stopped, turned around, and smiled as Yates moved to his side. "I'll come with you."  
  
** ** **  
  
"All right, men," Keller barked, his deep baritone voice echoing throughout the Barracks. Every head, every pair of eyes in the room was riveted on him now. "Commander wants us to form up an assault squad and meet the Marshal in five minutes." He paused, waiting a moment, to see if anyone would complain. After all, it was rather early in the morning. But not one word came back to him. "So let's move it, ladies! Four minutes to go!" At his shout, the room quickly because a surge of action as nearly three dozen marines rose from whatever they were doing. A loud metallic clanking filled the air as suit of armor after suit of armor was donned. Rifle after rifle was loaded, cocked, then checked.  
  
And then, precisely on schedule, the thirty-seven marines tromped out of the Barracks, in a steady march. Raynor and Yates were waiting for them, and a few smiles went around the group. Stepping forward, Raynor appraised them. and then nodded, his smile lingering a moment before he forcibly shrugged it off. "Glad to see you, boys. Let's kick us some serious butt. Let's get our game faces on." At this, everyone in the rigid columns came to attention. "We've just gotten a report that Backwater Station is under attack by the same critters that paid us a visit last night. We're going to go see if we can save them. Any questions?" As expected, there were none. Keller's group was well-trained, and extensively disciplined. "Our destination is three clicks north of here. Let's get a move on."  
  
They all set out, Raynor pausing just long enough to hop onto his Vulture speeder. They all moved surprisingly fast for the armor that was weighing them down, and Yates felt a surge of pride that these fine men represented the best of the best on Mar Sara. Double-timing it all the way, they made it to the outskirts of the small outland station by 08:30. They could see a few bunkers, but no other signs of life, alien or otherwise. Something about the ground, though. gave them pause. "What the hell is that stuff?" Raynor gasped, thoroughly disgusted at the purplish goop that littered the ground before them. "It almost looks like the ground there is alive!"  
  
Bare seconds after those words were out of his mouth, six of the dog-like critters from the night before popped out of the ground, close to a decidedly alien-looking building. They ran toward the marines, closing the distance far too quickly. But this time, the marines were expecting trouble, and not one of them got close enough to cause any harm. 'Here we go again,' Keller thought grimly. Waving a hand around him, he and his troops now surrounded the alien structure. "Let's toast this thing!" he shouted, the last part of it drowned out as thirty-eight gauss rifles and one frag grenade launcher opened up on it. It didn't last long, collapsing into itself with a fleshy squish. The effect, though not expected, was profound. Instantly, the purple goo began to dissolve. as though it were disintegrating from under their very feet.  
  
Once the immediate threat was taken care of, the troops moved cautiously into the area, looking about for survivors. Casting a glance at the scarred and damaged bunkers, Raynor turned thoughtful for a moment. "Hmm," he muttered, almost to himself. "These bunkers have been out here awhile. but they still could be pretty useful if another attack comes. Sergeant Keller, search for survivors." At once, the marine squadron spread out, searching. and then a faint sound came to them. One purely mechanical in nature: the unlocking of doors, coming from the three bunkers around them. Three civilians in SCVs came out of one, and from the other two emerged four Firebats. They all scurried up to Raynor and Yates, relief plain on their helmeted faces.  
  
"Wow, thanks a lot for the rescue!" the lead SCV said, his voice trembling from fear and adrenaline. "We've been holed up in these things for days, hiding from those monstrous Zerg!" The other two SCV pilots nodded, apparently too stunned to even speak at the moment, which was just as well. Raynor, having finally a name to associate with the critters, paused again in contemplative thought. 'Zerg, eh?' he thought. 'Well, now we 'least know what they are. But we still don't know why they're here. Great.'  
  
The firebats went right to Keller and his group, offering their assistance, clearly wanting to give some back to the monsters that nearly killed them. "Need a light?" their leader - one Corporal Jason Chen - asked, stopping before Keller and crisply saluting him. Keller looked the four firebats up and down, apprising them. It seemed they had seen a bit of battle as of late. Their armor had scratches in it, alongside with what appeared to be acid burns. One of the firebats seemed to have a broken arm, but he was still willing and able to fight. So Keller nodded, and motioned for them to join the marines. The now larger group continued to fan out through the deserted station, passing a barracks, an engineering bay, three more empty bunkers, and finally arriving at another command center.  
  
The command center itself was heavily damaged, sparking and smoking every few minutes from a myriad of holes blown into the side of the structure. Eyes widening, Keller recognized the danger posed to himself and the men, and barked: "Get the hell away from this thing! She's gonna blow!" They all turned and ran. most of them getting out of the explosion radius. But seven of them got caught in the Vespene explosion, torn to shreds as the command center blew sky-high. Fragments of metal mixed with torn shards of human flesh rained down all around them, and Keller winced at the smell of charred wires. Regrouping, and slightly toasted, the marines all had looks of anger on their faces. They would get the alien assholes that did this to them.  
  
** ** **  
  
Witnessing the explosion, Raynor and Yates hurried over to the group, assessing casualties with equal looks of concern. The SCVs followed them, wincing when they saw that the command center had exploded. "Aw, great." one of them grumbled, thinking of how long it would take to rebuild the thing. Command centers didn't get built overnight, you know. it took at least a day and a half to build them, even though they were pre-fabricated. They were just that large. Shuffling about disgustedly, they began to pick up the debris of the blast, gathering it in a heap of twisted junk at the northern edge of the station. Raynor and Yates, however, had more pressing things to attend to. Like the fact that seven of Keller's best men got caught in the explosion and veritably shredded.  
  
Addressing Keller himself now, Yates saluted him. As the sergeant returned it, Yates spoke. his voice soft and full of concern. "Sergeant Keller, you and your unit have my utmost condolences for this dreadful accident." He paused a moment, noticing a haunted look come briefly over Keller's normally stoic features. "There will be a memorial service for them at 17:00 tonight." At Keller's nod, Yates walked slowly over to where the command center once stood. As he stood there gazing down at the smoky black hole, his wrist-communicator beeped. Raising it to his lips, he tapped the activation switch. "Yates," he said, devoid of emotion.  
  
'Uh, Commander,' came the frail, tinny voice on the other end. It sounded familiar, but at first couldn't place it. then he knew. PFC Miller, the one manning the ComSat controls back at his complex. 'I, uh, sir, the ComSat's going crazy. I'm picking up a whole lot of alien life-forms. and they're all heading your way!' At this, Yates froze. So, for that matter, did everyone else within earshot of the Commander's communicator. 'I'm detecting, uh, about. forty to fifty different signatures. Watch it, sir! They're way too close to you. off to your east a bit!' Grimly, Yates waited until Miller finished his report, then closed the link.  
  
"Well, it seems the creeps that did this are coming back for more." Raynor muttered, wheeling his speeder up to Yates. "Should I go get 'em?" Yates looked at him a moment, some unknown communication passing between the two with the locking of their eyes. Then he nodded. Raynor tore his bike off down the dirt hill to the east of Backwater, and almost before he knew it the surviving marines and the firebats were hot on his tail. They were clearly mad, having just suffered a loss to their ranks. Damn straight they were gonna get revenge. With cries of anger and rage, they plowed down the hill after Raynor, running across a shallow valley, and then up another not-so-steep hill.  
  
The monsters were already there, waiting for them. Almost thirty of the small dog-like things - soon known as Zerglings -, but behind them were monsters that closely resembled snakes - soon known as Hydralisks - only they slithered upright, and had a wicked set of teeth and claws that resembled scythes. As the dog-things ran forward to engage the marines, the snake-things slithered a bit closer, then stopped. some weird chamber in their midsections opening. A moment later, over the din of alien cries and machine-gun fire, the snakes began to spit out a series of diamond-hard spikes, coated with and dripping in a highly corrosive acid. These spikes flew over the heads of the dogs, splashing against the armor plating of the marines. Becoming lodged in the armor, the acid began to slowly eat away. but the marines just kept firing.  
  
After a bloody battle, the dog-things all lay dead. and one of the snakes had fallen too. But even worse, was that ten more marines lay dead as well, their bodies literally torn to pieces by the ravenous monsters. Reforming quickly, Keller and his men tore into the snakes with a vicious fury, hailing down round after round of machine gun fire. As three more marines fell, finally the snakes fell as well. beaten, dead. Pausing to catch his breath, Keller looked about. What he saw distressed him. Only seventeen marines were left standing. plus the four firebats, and Marshal Raynor. But even Raynor had not gotten away unharmed, as his Vulture was hissing acrid smoke from a dozen holes.  
  
Soon enough, the smoke cleared. and the survivors pressed on, searching for more attackers. They didn't find any more. but they did encounter two more of those odd purple-goo-generating buildings, which they quickly obliterated. As the ground slowly returned to normal, one of the marines that happened to be looking around him caught sight of something. A command center, it looked like. only not. It looked like a cross between a command center and a massive chunk of alien flesh. Calling Keller's attention, the Private pointed it out. "Aw, man." Keller grumbled, at the sight of it. It literally sickened him. "What the hell did those things do to that command center?"  
  
Raynor finally got his bike to stop hissing and smoking, and got a good look for himself. Definitely unusual. "Whatever it is, it ain't natural," he growled. "Let's burn it down, boys." With grim-faced determination, the troops all marched up to within weapons range of it, and unleashed all their fury upon it. Hundreds of bullets tore holes into the fleshy part, and then bit through and shredded metal like it were paper. Similarly, four pairs of trusty Perdition flamethrowers were quickly charring the lower levels, while Raynor's frag grenades took large chunks out at once with concussive explosions that shook the entire structure. After several minutes of constant fire, the gauss rifles soon clicked on empty, and the firebats stepped back as the twisted building collapsed in on itself with a low rumble. A job well done.  
  
** ** **  
  
When Yates joined them, they were talking amongst themselves, glad now that their region was finally safe. The time was now 09:45. Raynor had gotten Miller to do another ComSat sweep, and the entire area had come up negative for any aliens. So, they were safe now. They were all still trying to figure out just WHAT those things had done to the building they just destroyed, when three dropships screamed in overhead. Turning their heads to follow them, they all watched as the ships landed nearby. General Duke himself, escorted by a phalanx of some twenty-odd heavily armed marines, disembarked from the transports, and began to walk slowly over to them. Motioning the marines to wait, Duke walked to Raynor, staring him down face- to-face. The older man's expression was one of livid anger.  
  
"Marshal Raynor," he began, his voice just as nasally, if not more so, than it had been in the communications feed earlier that morning. though now only barely managing to conceal his rage. "By destroyin' that vital Confederate installation, you and your men have violated standin' colonial law. As of right now, you're all under arrest. I suggest that you boys throw down your weapons, and come peaceably." He motioned for the marines behind him now to take the militia into custody. Single-mindedly, they did so. and began first by arresting Keller, and his men. Handcuffs were slapped onto them, locked with nearly a dozen ratchety clicks. Then the prisoners were moved off toward the dropships.  
  
When they came for Raynor, he shook them off, moving closer to Duke. furious himself. "Are you outta your frickin' mind, General?!" He was all but shouting now, his face a lively color of red. Another few marines tried to cuff him, but again he shook them off, shaking his finger first at the remains of the command center, then at Duke. "If we hadn't burned down that damned building, this entire colony could have been overrun! Maybe if you and your goons hadn't taken your sweet time in getting here." He was cut off abruptly, as now five marines had come up behind him, finally managing to slap handcuffs on his broad wrists, pinning them behind him and holding him immobile.  
  
Moving right into Raynor's face, Duke sneered with an expression of utter contempt. "Now I asked you nice the first time, boy. I didn't come here to talk with you. I came here to arrest you. You're comin' with me!" And with that he turned around, leading the way back to the dropships. The procession of prisoners, now in custody, proceeded to board the dropships, forcefully prodded along by the expressionless Confederate marines. Glaring daggers into the back of Duke's head, Raynor looked back at Yates a moment, shrugging. Yates nodded, then turned and headed back along the three-click hike back to Wasteland Station. He wouldn't just sit for this, oh no. He was quite intent on filing a formal protest with the egotistical General Duke, and if he was ignored, then he would go over his head.  
  
Raynor turned back toward the dropships, which were getting larger now. "I guess you wouldn't be a Confederate if you weren't a total pain in our asses," he muttered as he was forced aboard. A few minutes later, the dropships lifted off. heading back toward the Confederate blockade fleet in high orbit above. Raynor knew that his next stop would be the deep-space prison ship known as the Incarcerator. 'Oh, man.' he thought grimly. 'What am I gonna do now?'  
  
**Wasteland Patrol** Perimeter Patrol, Wasteland Site Confederate Border Colony Mar Sara  
  
A lone military-style dune buggy bumped and practically crawled along the dirt roads all around the Wasteland site. They were left behind, to maintain a patrol for any more of the creatures now known as the Zerg. They had retrieved a body, at Commander Yates' orders, and had analyzed it. The small dog-like critters were now called Zerglings. Inside the buggy were two people: Corporal Lester Walkens, and Sergeant Troy Hamblin, or just plain 'Sarge'. A deep, heavy-metalish music exploded from the speakers of the vehicle. and poor Lester was rubbing his ears in pain. "Hey, Sarge, why do we always gotta listen to this shit for, anyway?" he asked, wincing as it hit a hard note, making his head hurt.  
  
Sarge, who was driving, looked over at him briefly, irritated. A cigarette was in his mouth, and he took a puff of it. but at least he turned the ear-splitting music down a few notches. "'Cause I'm in charge, that's why." Reaching a fork in the road, he turned the wheel to the right, and the buggy turned perfectly. Still nothing to see. nothing but dirt and desolation. No monsters, no life of any kind. They were well away now from the primary Wasteland Station, and it had long ago vanished behind one of the many dunes that littered the area. Lester looked grateful now that the music was down some, but he still grimaced a bit.  
  
"Aw, that don't seem like no good kinda reason to me," he muttered, glancing at Sarge and then looking back ahead. "You ain't my boss anyway. hey, what's that?" He stopped, having seen something small scurrying directly across their path.  
  
Sarge saw it too, putting his foot down on the gas, speeding up the buggy. "It's gonna be a hood ornament, in a second..." Holding the steering wheel dead steady, a puff of smoke escaped his nose as he shouted: "Steam roller!" A second later, the buggy hit a solid object, and came to a stop. Curious to see what they'd hit, the two stepped out, walking around to the front of the buggy, which was now hissing and popping as the engine tried to cool down. Bending down, they took a look at what was jammed under the radiator.  
  
Lester spoke first, not having a clue as to what was there. "Aw man. looks like you mashed some poor fella's dog, Sarge." He had no idea that this was in fact an alien monster. or that it was by no means alone.  
  
Recognizing it for what it was, Sarge clarified him. "It's no dog. it's a Zergling, Lester. a smaller type of Zerg." He thought a moment, one hand scratching his head. Something just didn't seem right, but he couldn't nail it down. "But wait a minute, he wouldn't be out this far, unless." Almost at the same instant, he heard a chorus of roars behind him. "Aw shit!" The two were on their feet in a flash, wheeling toward the sound. Surrounding the vehicle were four Hydralisks, blocking off their escape. And they looked mad.  
  
Lester only had time to get out one phrase before the merciless Zerg charged them: "I love you, Sarge." and then, seconds later, the two were dead. having never gotten a chance to warn anyone about what they'd seen.  
  
-Desperate Alliances- Command Center of the Colonial Magistrate Mar Sara Colony, Capital City 12:05 SCT, 13 Dec 2499  
  
Knowing a short time later that Wasteland Station was in danger, that the Zerg would never stop harassing it, Commander Yates ordered an immediate evacuation. setting all the structures to self-destruct, and then high- tailing it back to the main capital of Mar Sara. Before they all left, though, Yates had taken the time to transmit his protest with the Confederacy as to how Raynor, Keller, and Keller's men had been unfairly treated, sending it directly to Tarsonis through the Holo-CommNet. As of the time they had left, there had been no response. They abandoned Wasteland Station at 10:57, fifteen minutes after the horribly mutilated bodies from the patrol were discovered.  
  
With all the remaining personnel using dune buggies, ATVs, and Vulture transports, they cut straight through the mountains, reaching the capital in far less time than it should normally have taken them. Yates was thoroughly incensed that all of the troops he had taken with him to Wasteland had been arrested, on the charge of treason: namely, willful destruction of Confederate property, and sedition. though the sedition part was as much a lie as to the fact that the Zerg weren't alien. And they were not known for their leniency in such matters. as they destroyed one of the core worlds, known as Korhal, with nearly four million nuclear weapons almost twenty-five years ago to quash a rebellion forming there. Some Korhalian senator, Angus Mengsk, was behind that rebellion. Though Yates wasn't sure.  
  
Once back to the capital, though. Yates' mind eased a little bit. Here, in the center of the colony world, he was not defenseless. They had built quite a nice little city here. complete with many, many marines, firebats, and Vulture pilots for defense. This was a secure city. well protected against all but the heaviest attacks. This was where Yates felt at home. Not out there, in the wilderness, dealing with unknown monsters that now carried the name 'Zerg'. But here, surrounded by loyal troops, officers, and several thousand tons of bristling firepower. He strolled about the city, moving slowly, in no hurry to get back to the command center just yet. He enjoyed these inspection tours, the way everyone would snap to attention at the sight of him. 'Now these,' he thought as he walked, 'are well-disciplined men.'  
  
Only the Vulture pilots seemed to show hesitation at saluting him. but this didn't surprise him. 'Roughnecks', they were often called. Both for their seeming lack of much discipline, and for their cavalier attitude about anything they were asked or ordered to do. They were not unknown to curse at their superiors, though most overlooked this. Yates, however, did not take too kindly to being addressed that way. So he had quickly banned curses at superiors from his ranks. And surprisingly enough, they seemed to be adhering to that coda. For the moment, anyway. The arrival of the Zerg may well have thrown a wrench into that. Oh well, only time would tell.  
  
As his inspection tour ended, he headed back toward the command center, intent on checking to see if anyone had yet replied to the message he sent Tarsonis-ward. The command center here was slightly larger than they usually were, as the construction people had wanted to make it clear that this building was the city's seat of power. Only problem was, if anyone attacked, that would be their first target. the largest structure around. This time, there was an elevator to take. as the control room was not at the bottom level of the building. but this time, nearly the center, to protect it behind layers and layers of outside walls. He got in the elevator, and pressed the special button dedicated to 'command level'. The lift slowly rose, slipping quietly upward through the technological wizardry that lined the structure's core.  
  
** ** **  
  
When his conveyance finally reached the desired level, the doors opened with a soft 'swoosh', and he stepped out. Just ahead, was the control room. The thick, armored double doors were open, and technicians came and went. He stepped into it, and saw that nearly every console, every monitor, was alight and manned. Glancing briefly at the ComSat monitor, he watched as it went through a few radar sweeps, searching for any intruders and finding none. Then his eyes swept the rest of the room briefly, looking for any familiar faces. He saw none. PFC Miller, the good 'ol chess player, was off- duty at the moment, most likely sleeping somewhere in the barracks. His mind was wandering now, when a ping from the computer brought him back to reality. Incoming message. The avatar came online. 'Receiving incoming transmission, Magistrate. Com-link established.'  
  
Yates crossed to that station, watching to see who it was, and what they would say. He had a feeling it was someone on Tarsonis, some representative of the Confederacy. But he wasn't expecting to see the man whom he now loathed. General Duke himself appeared on the monitor. And he wasn't happy. 'I've got your message, Magistrate.' he began, in his oh-so-annoying drawl. 'and quite frankly, I don't really care about what you have to say about Confederate regulations. You damned fringe-world yokels are all alike. don't know where your loyalties lie. You have a real good day now, y'hear?' With that, the screen went dark a moment. Yates was now angry too. Duke had just brushed them off, thinking they were disloyal to the Confederacy. Yeah, right.  
  
Interrupting his thoughts, the friendly female computer spoke once more. 'Transmission ended, Magistrate. The report you requested is ready.' There was a slight pause, and then numbers and data began pouring over another monitor, lising information. 'Sixteen outland stations have reported sightings of the alien invaders identified as Zerg,' the computer continued. Yates briefly watched the data, and it was unnerving. 'The Confederates have arrested all militia forces that participated in the attack on Backwater Station, and continue to avoid action against the Zerg. Three other stations have fallen to the Zerg already. We've been unable to locate any source of military relief, except.' Another pause. Yates wasn't too sure he liked the computer's pauses, even though it was sentient. Machines just weren't supposed to have hesitation. 'The extremist faction known as the Sons of Korhal. Their liason, Arcturus Mengsk, is holding on- line.'  
  
A new face now came on the monitor that Duke had occupied a few moments before. A man in his fifties, with grayish-black hair worn short in the military style, and with a dark gray beard. Arcturus Mengsk, son of Angus Mengsk, the rebellious Senator from Korhal. that led to the Confederacy's destruction of that world. "Good day, Magistrate. My name is Arcturus Mengsk, and I represent the Sons of Korhal. You're probably familiar with the Confederate propoganda that surrounds my group. but your reputation suggests to me that you'll see past it." Yates nodded, having heard QUITE a few choice things about this little group. The Confederacy was hunting them day and night, trying to hem them in and eliminate them. But also, Mengsk was right. Yates did indeed see past the propoganda.  
  
Touching the control that activated the transmitter, Yates decided to reply. "Good day to you, Mr. Mengsk," he said, giving a short nod to the other man. "To tell you the truth, I'm a bit surprised that you're even here. or talking to me, for that matter. I would have thought that you would worry about Confederate intercepts, or our new little problem." At this, Mengsk laughed softly, but it was a dry, almost tired laugh. Apparently, Mengsk wasn't worried about either one. but he DID know about the Zerg. Which led Yates to wonder exactly what he knew, and where he gained that knowledge from.  
  
"Ah, yes. the Zerg," Mengsk continued, after his tired laughter finally trailed off. "Ordinarily, we hop about from place to place. it's never been our policy to operate in any one place for a long period of time. But the Zerg don't look like they're going to wait. It seems we have to deal with them. And by the looks of things, you've already been dealing with them quite a bit." The man paused, running the fingers of his right hand through his short, well-kept beard. When he spoke again, his eyes had a bit of fire in them. "I'm going to make you an offer, Magistrate. I'd like to help you get out of here, by sending a number of Dropships to your colony, and evacuating any survivors. I had heard that the Confederates confiscated all your ships."  
  
Yates nodded once more, his expression one of barely suppressed anger. "Indeed they did, damn them." His fists were tightly clenched, and his fingernails, though short, were digging into his palms. "All we did was save Backwater Station from a Zerg attack, and destroy this odd mutation. looked like a combination between a command center and something biological. I wouldn't be surprised if those critters had something to do with it. And for all our trouble, that bastard Duke arrested all my forces at Wasteland Station!" His tenuous control over his temper was edging closer and closer to the breaking point as he poured all his rage into the rant he was now making. But after a moment, he calmed down slightly, and looked back up to the screen. "You'd help us? You'd send us some ships to help us evacuate?"  
  
Looking face-to-face, eye-to-eye, Mengsk nodded without any hesitation. "Of course we'll help you. The Confederates would just leave you here to die. while we are honorable people. But you know of course, that my organization operates outside the boundaries of Confederate law. That's why they spread their lies and disinformation. If you accept our help, you'll be branded as an outlaw too. might even lose your colony. But, it's a chance to save those people that you ordinarily might not have gotten. It's time to make a stand for what you believe in, Magistrate." Mengsk turned away from the screen for a moment, and spoke a few orders to an officer off behind him and to his right. An instant later, the officer was gone from the view. "All right, Magistrate. I've ordered ten dropships to launch immediately. They're heading your way as we speak."  
  
Yates smiled now, the first truly grateful smile he had felt in a long time. "My thanks to you, sir," he spoke, his voice now calm and collected once more. "But, I wonder if I could impose one more thing.?" He paused, waiting. At Mengsk's attention, and silence, he continued. "Could you locate the Confederate Prison Ship that they took my militia to? They were the best of the best here, and having them back would be a great use. I hope I'm not asking too much."  
  
Smiling widely, and making a dismissive gesture, Mengsk laughed a bit. "Oh, no, not at all, Magistrate. I know the prison ship you speak of. the Incarcerator. Almost everyone in my organization is familiar with her. A Battlecruiser, only stripped down to bare essentials for mass prisoner containment." A scowl came over his face, almost belying a deep seated hatred of the Confederacy and its ways. But it was gone almost as quickly as it appeared, and Mengsk smiled again. "Not to worry, sir. We'll have your men free in no time at all. Leave it to us. Good luck with the evacuation. Mengsk out." He reached forward and terminated the link. and once more the monitor went dark.  
  
** ** **  
  
Three minutes later, the avatar finally returned. 'Ending transmission now, Magistrate. Detecting Sons of Korhal dropships on low orbital approach. ETA: 30 minutes. Hold. please wait. new signal on sensors. Prority Alert! Capital city under attack by Zerg forces. Distress beacon activated at 12:20.' At this, everyone in the room flew into a frenzy. Officers were shouting out things to others, and even to Yates. Yates, in turn, was barking orders of his own, marshaling together all the militia that the city had to offer, and ordering them to defend the city. Then turning to the ComSat sensor screen, Yates saw something that made his blood run cold. The city itself, all sprawled out as it was, was a grouping of green dots. But now, at the northeast and northwestern entrances, a massive army of orange dots had massed, and were pressing against the green dots like an evil flood.  
  
Running through the bowels of the command center once more, Yates stopped off briefly at the armory, this time taking a C-35 pulse rifle. The old gauss rifles were good, but this new pulser was even better. since the pulses of proton energy were extremely destructive against biological matter. Quickly donning a suit of armor, he barged out of the main doors and down the ramp of the building. and emerged on the shores of Hell itself. Already all of the city's defenders were arrayed, the howl of hundreds of machine-guns roaring into the sky. becoming almost deafening. The attacking horde consisted of similarly hundreds of Zerglings, dozens of Hydralisks, and some as yet unknown flying monstrosity, that looked like a giant worm with wings. Shouting a battle cry, not about to let his city fall to these alien invaders, he ran forward to join his men.  
  
He reached one of the forward bunkers, quickly slipping inside. There were three marines in here with him, and they gave him a quick and grateful acknowledgement before they all returned to their task: beating back the attackers. After a short but bloody battle, the invaders were beaten down, and they had a brief respite. Taking a moment to assess damage, Yates stepped out of the bunker, looking around. A vulture pulled up beside him, pointing back to the building he just came out of. "Hey, Magistrate," the hippie yelled. "This bunker's on fire! You oughta' get an SCV out here to repair it. and have him fix my bike up too, while he's at it!"  
  
'I never did like these guys and their arrogance.' Yates thought sourly, but he did patch into his helmet comm, ordering three SCVs to be diverted to damage control duty. Obediently, three of them detached from their previous tasks, bringing their fusion welders to bear instead on repairing gashes, sealing holes, and bringing damaged systems back to operational capability. It was slow, and it was tedious. but after many long minutes, the bunkers were repaired. So, too, was the grumpy pilot's speeder bike. The computer, almost just in time, sounded an alert over the loudspeakers. 'Dropship arrival in ten minutes,' it said, the female voice echoing around the city. 'Warning: ComSat scans indicate additional Zerg forces en route, ETA two minutes. All personnel, remain at battle readiness.'  
  
Hearing this, Yates double-timed it back into his bunker, peeking out. Around and behind him, two of the detached SCVs began to construct new bunkers from pre-fab packs in the command center. but even so, it would take them time to set them up. It took about five minutes for one SCV to set up one bunker kit. And the hostiles were coming in three minutes sooner than that. 'So that means we just buy those guys time to get those things set up,' he thought at last. 'And we will do it!' Crouching down beside the marines in the bunker, he checked the load on his machine-gun, nodding with satisfaction. Plenty of U-238 slugs left, plenty to empty into those monstrous carcasses. With a bloodthirsty grin, he settled in to wait. He wouldn't be waiting long.  
  
And sure enough, exactly two minutes later, the second wave of Zerg arrived, and began to take potshots at the city's defenders. The defenders, in turn, responded in kind. blowing Zergling after Zergling after Hydralisk into tiny chunks of chitin and flesh. One of the outermost bunkers was destroyed, and its inhabitants torn into millions of shreds by the rampaging swarm. But those just behind the destroyed building shrieked in fury, and redoubled their efforts. In just under three minutes, the second wave was exterminated. The two rear-guard bunkers were completed, and reinforcements were loaded into them.  
  
As the SCVs once more began to repair the damage caused, which was mostly confined to a few missile launchers and bunkers, the computer ran another scanner sweep. Again, it broadcast an update over the city loudspeakers. 'Attention. Dropship ETA now five minutes. All personnel, remain at battle stations.' It paused a moment, then terminated its link to the city loudspeakers, instead hailing Yates' communicator. 'Magistrate,' it said, voice now hushed but still loud enough. 'Sensor analysis shows that it may be possible to break through the Zerg defenses, and reach Mengsk's dropships ahead of their ETA.'  
  
Yates was on his feet again like a shot. He activated his comm, and spoke back to the computer. "How, computer? Give me coordinates. Patch the latest scan sweep through to my helmet visor." A few moments later, the computer complied. and the tough man studied the scan results. 'Ingenious,' he thought to himself. The scans had been coordinated, expertly picking out the major elements of a Zerg encampment nearby. But it clearly showed, just to the northeast and maybe less than a click away, a relatively uninfested passage that headed right toward the oncoming dropships. 'It's a bit dicey, but I think we can manage it.' he mused. "Acknowledged, computer." With that, he cut his comm, then reactivated it, broadcasting to all the city's defenders.  
  
"Attention all forces!" he spoke, instantly drawing everyone's ear to his words. "There is a possibility we can hammer through the Zerg's defenses, and meet the dropships halfway here. All those who wish to take part in this risky charge, activate your comms and say aye!" At the same instant, he turned his headset audio down. which was a good thing, because a reply came back with a tumultuous "AYE!!" from just about every person in the entire city. "All right," Yates said, taking charge again. He distributed the ComSat scans to all the marines, giving them a moment to study it. "It's time we take the fight to them. All personnel, form up outside the bunkers."  
  
They hurried to comply, bloodlust evident in their eyes. They didn't like hiding in bunkers. they'd much rather be out in the thick of it, fighting for their lives. Now Yates stood before them. "Okay, men. from here on out we fight our way through. Say goodbye to the city, it's likely we'll never see it again." Giving a moment for silent goodbyes, he turned back to face the direction they would go, and raised his rifle. "All right, everyone. CHARGE!!!" And that second, as though a live wire had been touched to them, all the surviving inhabitants of Mar Sara's capital lurched into motion, brandishing weapons and running headlong into impending combat.  
  
The Zerg met them almost a click away, and the two forces clashed violently. Heads flew, blood and acid sprayed the sand and rock around them, arms and legs were vaporized or eaten away by acidic poison. Behind them the command center floated along, low and massive. Its great size prevented it from moving too fast. but at least it was there, and the rapidly advancing troop was protecting it. The sensor station in the command center kept scanning as they went, and dutifully noted and logged each and every casualty, on both sides. Eventually, the Zerg forces were broken and shattered, and in full retreat. The attacking marines cheered, relieved that they had been victorious. that maybe now they were safe.  
  
At the exact same instant of the computer's announcement to the effect of 'We've broken through to the dropships.', the survivors (only reduced to three-fourths of their original strength) sighted the bright red ships swooping down from the sky to meet them. The ships, eight in all, spotted the refugees, and settled down to the ground softly in front of them. All the ramps of the ships came down, and the pilot of the lead ship appeared, her face haggard, to call them in. "C'mon in, and strap yourselves in, boys. We gotta get o'selves out of here."  
  
After scrambling into the ships, all the survivors quickly bundled up, securing themselves tightly in place. The ships took off again, flying hell for leather for high orbit. and a rendezvous with Arcturus Mengsk himself on the Sons of Korhal flagship, Hyperion.  
  
A/N: Sorry that took so long! College is getting in the way, and it was hard going to write two chapters in one section. Hope you like, though! R/R! ^_^ 


	3. 4: Jacobs Installation

A/N: ( . ) denotes thought. Here it is, chapter four. I hope you like it. ^_^ Anyone who doesn't, ah well. Everyone's got opinions, after all, eh? Hehe. And I still don't own Starcraft, either. *shrug*  
  
-=Chapter Four: The Jacobs Installation=-  
  
Sons of Korhal Command Ship Hyperion High Orbit, Confederate Border World Mar Sara 15:39 SCT, 13 Dec 2499  
  
The massive battlecruiser Hyperion, the flagship of Arcturus Mengsk's somewhat rag-tag but still quite dangerous fleet, slowly cruised though the vacuum of space over Mar Sara. The hull plates on the ship were a bright crimson red color, and just behind the bridge was the clan emblem for the Sons of Korhal: a curled arm, holding a whip that circled around behind it. At the front observation windows just below the main bridge of the ship, Arcturus Mengsk himself stood, hands clasped behind his back. Though appearing just as rag-tag as the rest of his officers, and his fleet also, he was still a man of presence. He truly was the son of Argus Mengsk, the great Korhal senator.  
  
Arcturus gazed thoughtfully out and down at the planet, but an expression of revulsion briefly crossed his aged and stern features. Far below them, most of the formerly green-brown world was now covered in a sickly looking purplish goo. (The creep), Mengsk thought sourly to himself. (What disgusting shit. I can't believe that another planet has fallen to these bastards.) Beside him, his first Lieutenant and second-in-command, Sarah Kerrigan, picked up telepathically on his thought and sub-consciously nodded in agreement to it.  
  
For her own part, Kerrigan looked down on the world below with a mixture of trepidation and anger. She had encoutered the Zerg in close quarters many times now, and each time her mind ached from an echo of something that was trying to telepathically make a grab for her. She fought it off, and valiantly so, thanks to the intense Ghost training she had received as a child. But even still, it was getting harder and harder to do. (There's a driving mind behind these monsters,) she thought once, not too long ago, after narrowly escaping a heated battle with them. (And whatever it is, it has its eyes set on me.) She knew this, because she was a Ghost. a highly gifted wielder of intense psionic powers. Though unfortunately, her powers were dampened by the Confederates and their damnable control techniques.  
  
Can't have their precious Ghosts rampaging out of control, now can they? All Ghosts were subjected to the same treatment. And to Kerrigan, the thought of it was revolting. But there was nothing she could do about it.  
  
A little flicker of lights from the surface caught her eye. She turned her bright green eyes fully toward them, her HEV optical implants automatically zooming into the image. Her vision, while wearing that helmet, was like the view of a highly-advanced cyborg. Crosshairs, auto- zoom, threat assessment and target identification programs were all built- in. As little schematic displays on the approaching ships appeared on the right side of her vision, she saw that it was nothing threatening. Just the dropships that Mengsk had sent down, to evacuate the rest of the colony's survivors. In a few moments, the ships would dock, and Arcturus would leave her side, to greet his new guests.  
  
** ** **  
  
About ten minutes later, the dropships all settled into their docking clamps in the gigantic ship's hangar deck. They all shook slightly as the clamps took hold, and soon the artificial gravity regained its hold on the occupants, giving them a momentary stomach-drop feeling. Yates, though, shook it off more quickly, as he was used to stuff like this. He unlocked his harness and rose from the bench-like seat that three others were likewise strapped into, and stepped down the lowering ramp into the hangar bay proper.  
  
All around were various pieces of things, littered here and there. Pieces of engines, a wing, a laser cannon, a missile launcher. All parts and equipment for the agile little fighters known as Wraiths. As his gaze swept around the bay, he saw literally dozens of the tiny one-man fighters, resting comfortably on many tiers, from floor to ceiling. On the opposite side, were racks of dropships, suits of armour for landing parties, and racks full of heavy weaponry. Not just the U-238 Gauss Rifles, either. There were Perdition Class-II Flamethrowers, C-10 Canister Rifles, C-25 Laser Pulse Rifles, Personal Cloaking Devices, shoulder-mounted Gemini Missile Launchers. Yates was impressed. Mengsk apparently kept his forces well armed, and well taken care of.  
  
He stopped in the middle of the bay, and looked back behind him through the clear plasteel of the now closing docking bay doors. He caught sight of his once-beautiful planet, and felt a wave of anger. Mar Sara, almost totally ruined and overpowered by the alien Zerg. His eyes then shifted to the city command center that was slowly trundling up to orbit after them, the computer having been given an order to follow. After all, it was Yates' only link to the outside universe. As it got within narrow-band transmission range, the computer sent him a flash transmission that it had intercepted from Confederate HQ on Tarsonis.  
  
'Commander, your tenure as Colonial Magistrate is suspended, pending an official investigation of your affiliation with the Sons of Korhal.'  
  
(Well, that's just great,) Yates thought grimly, nodding once at the report and tapping off his wrist-com. (I've had just about enough good news for one day. First the damned Confeds leave us to be overrun, and then they have the nerve to strip me of my position, just for taking a helping hand. Goddamn them!) He put his hands up to his temples, and rubbed a bit, feeling a gnawing headache forming there. He hadn't slept in a long time. Not, in fact, since they had first seen signs of trouble around Wasteland Station.  
  
He was jarred from his thoughts by the sudden opening of the door on the far side of the hangar, the one that led to the corridors, and the rest of the ship. His hands dropped to his sides, and he forced himself to appear professional as he turned to greet the newcomer. His eyes widened in surprise, and a smile crept onto his face. "Jim!" he exclaimed, seeing Raynor and Sergeant Keller moving through the now-open door. He stepped up to meet the two, and shook hands with them. "Sergeant Keller. Good to see you both. Welcome back, though I wish the circumstances were better."  
  
Raynor smiled, his typical goofy grin. "Hey, man. Good to see you too. I was beginnin' to think I'd rot on that damned ship forever. Arcturus's boys sprung us from that prison ship, and they brought us directly here. Apparently, they're as pissed off at the Confederates as we are! I know their reputation," he said hesitantly, looking around as though slightly paranoid that the walls might well have ears. But they didn't seem to, so he continued. "But they do seem to be on the level. I think Arcturus wanted to speak with you."  
  
As if on cue, the hangar door slid open once more, and Mengsk himself strode into the bay. "Commander Yates, Commander Raynor, Sergeant Keller," he began, nodding at all three of them in turn. They nodded back to him. Looking grim, Mengsk continued. "I'll get right down to it, gentlemen. Mar Sara is almost completely overrun by the Zerg." At this, Raynor visibly flinched. (Shit!) the ex-marshal thought, anguished. (That was my home, goddamnit! I grew up there! Those bastards are gonna pay for this!) "The Confederates are abandoning the planet, and so are we. However, there's one thing I'd like to do before we leave."  
  
Mengsk paused a moment, then moved to one of the hangar bay's windows, looking down. "I'd like you to raid this colony's Confederate outpost and retrieve whatever design or weapons schematics that you can find in their networks. With the chaos of their evacuation, you shouldn't have any trouble getting into or out of their installation." He turned back to them. "This could be vitally important, gentlemen."  
  
Raynor nodded at once, eyes appearing excited. "Finally, some action. I'm into it."  
  
Mengsk looked immensely pleased. For the first time, Yates felt a slight tingle of suspicion about this man. A feeling that Mengsk might be on their side, but that he might have a secret agenda that they didn't know about. What was it that Mengsk wanted to find down in that outpost? He didn't know, and he wasn't even really sure that it mattered.  
  
"Commander Raynor, Sergeant Keller, you will lead this operation," Yates said, turning to his two companions. He looked around the room, now seeing that all of the survivors had de-barked from Mengsk's dropships, and that all of the other militia that had been arrested by that asshole Duke were here as well. "Take whoever you need. Get in, get whatever's there, and get out again. And most importantly, get back safely." At once, the other two men looked back to Mengsk, looking for details, specifics, and a chance to re-arm.  
  
Magnanimously, Mengsk waved his arm at the armour and weapons racks. "Help yourselves, gentlemen," he said, his southern drawl even thicker and more pronounced than Raynor's. "My allies get only the best that I have to offer." Again, Yates felt a faint stir of unease. (Your allies, eh? What about your enemies, what to they get?) At Mengsk's words, and with a dismissal from Yates, Raynor and Keller began to move about the room, checking personnel, hand-picking some fifteen more people to accompany them. Nine more marines, and six firebats all followed the two to the wall, where they began to outfit themselves once more for the first time in many hours.  
  
"Ah, yeah," one of the marines muttered happily, as he slipped into a new suit of armour. This suit was crimson red instead of the typical bright blue he was used to, but that didn't matter. Armour was armour, after all. "Lock and load." This sentiment was echoed by all the others, as they donned the crimson armour, and selected quite a bit of heavy firepower. One of the marines, a Corporal Jack Stoner, grinned a grin that was missing quite a few teeth as he selected twin U-238 Gauss Rifles, and slipped smaller auto-pistols into holsters in the armour plating.  
  
Once all the marines and firebats were outfitted with new equipment, they trooped onto two of the dropships that had not long before ferried the Mar Sara survivors to this ship. Keller, four marines, and three firebats loaded into one; Raynor, the other five marines, and the other three firebats loaded into the other. Mengsk and Yates stood back as the hangar doors opened, silently watching the ships depart. (Good luck, men,) Yates thought to himself. (Come back safe.) He looked askance at Mengsk, and saw the older man struggling hard to conceal a smile behind his beard. (What are you after?) he wondered again. But now was not the time to worry about it.  
  
** ** **  
  
The dropships fell like stones from orbit, slicing through the turbulent atmosphere of Mar Sara like two gigantic meteors. Only the heat shields prevented the ships from frying like crispy chicken. As they plummeted through the clouds, Raynor could strainingly look out a nearby porthole at the rapidly approaching ground below. The look of it shocked him. (My god!) he thought, shocked at the sight.  
  
All around the Confederate outpost they were approaching, the ground was purple.  
  
Raynor stared down in mute horror, for the first time truly aware of just how much damage the alien bastards had done to his precious home. They would suffer for this, but revenge would come another day. For now, they had a mission. And he was in charge of it.  
  
Within ten minutes, the transports soon fired their braking thrusters, slowing their perilous descent and giving everyone within them a good solid jarring. Straightening out, the vessels landed softly on their skids with a slight bump, and the second they were down, the massive ramps swung down and bit into the ground. Unlocking and moving out, the covert force took a moment to look around, noting that the Creep was not yet all that pronounced here. But it would be, and soon. They could see the bright white armour of the Alpha Squadron Confederates off at the limits of visual range, clearly fighting something. Most likely, the approach of the ravenous invaders.  
  
Raynor then motioned them into action, and led the charge toward the facility behind them. He looked down at himself, now also wearing the crimson red armour of the Sons of Korhal, thinking disgustedly of how they'd stand out like a sore thumb in this sea of white armour. (Oh, what the hell,) he thought, and charged on. Reaching the main entrance, he saw that the door was closed, and locked. which he found rather odd for an installation in the midst of a full blown evacuation. But this didn't despair him: he had an all-purpose lockpick, albeit a drastic one. Bending down momentarily, he set a C-4 explosive charge at the base of the door, and motioned everyone to take cover.  
  
A moment later, a tremendous explosion tore the door completely off of its track, and hurled lethal shrapnel all over the entryway of the building. They moved in, quickly and quietly, a perfect infiltration. Or so they thought. Little did they know that the explosion had gone noticed, and a silent alarm tripped. There were now a multitude of guards approaching them, and all around the building floor guns were activating. As one door opened and the force stormed in, three civilians looked up, in shock to see the blood red colors standing before them. "Hey, who are you?!" one bellowed. "You're not allowed in here! This is a restricted area!"  
  
Keller stepped forward, levelled his gauss rifle, and calmly blew the man's head clean off his shoulders in a hail of metal. The rest of the troops fanned out behind him, and the other two civilians finally realized what was wrong. that these men wore the colors of the enemy. "You rebel scum!" the second shouted, before they were both cut down by Keller's men. The gunfire apparently hadn't gone unnoticed, for as the force trooped through the area where the civilians had been, and walked down a winding set of stairs toward the center of the structure, a computerized alarm suddenly went off.  
  
"Unauthorized entry detected," a harsh, male voice boomed over the building's loudspeaker system. "Sentry guns activating."  
  
"Aw, shit!" Raynor swore, as just ahead and behind them, turreted machine- guns popped up out of the floor, and opened fire. The squad dove for any cover they could find, but two of the marines and a firebat got literally torn to pieces by the crossfire. Three of the guns got blown up as well, by the same crossfire, and then Raynor's men began to open up on them as well. No more men fell, but one took a stray bullet in the arm before all the sentry guns were finally reduced to smoking cinders. "Whew." Raynor muttered. As they proceeded, he paused a moment to look them over. "Everyone else okay?"  
  
They all nodded, even the one who had taken the bullet in the arm. It didn't matter to him anymore, anyway. The armour was good: it had isolated the wound, and pumped his body full of painkillers and stimulants, as well as disinfectants. Thus, he wouldn't have to worry about it becoming infected on him. If all else failed, he would get it taken care of back aboard the Hyperion. They moved on deeper in, being very careful now. They were all hyped up on stim-packs, and their senses were now hyper-alert and overactive.  
  
After a short while of walking through boring and empty corridors, Raynor turned a corner and found himself on a bridge overlooking a pit. Looking down into the pit before he could stop himself, his eyes widened with disgust and surprise. "What the hell?" he shouted, involuntarily activating his helmet comm-link to the Hyperion far above. "Zerg! I don't fuckin' believe this!"  
  
The answering voice came a moment later, the sympathetic and cool tones of Arcturus Mengsk himself. "Believe it, Commander." The man seemed to sound old and harried. as though he were waging a war. But then again, maybe he was. "I saw Zerg held within Confederate holding pens myself, and that was over a year ago. It's clear now that the Confederates have known about these creatures for some time. Hell, for all we know they could be breeding the things!" he paused a moment, trying to get his anger at the Confederacy under control. "But be that as it may, Commander, our priority here is to access the Confederate datanet. We'll deal with the Zerg another day."  
  
"Right," Raynor said, and led his men over the bridge, casting reviled glares down at the trapped Zerglings far below. He suspected they were getting closer to the center, where the main datanet was contained. That's the way most facilities like this were laid out: with sensitive and classified files and data at the very center, surrounded with layer after layer and floor after floor of protective armour.  
  
Raynor's suspicions were confirmed a moment later as they rounded another corner, and ran smack into a group of six Alpha Squadron marines. "It's them! Blast 'em!" their leader shouted, but they were caught by surprise. The invaders already had their guns up, and were firing just as fast as the triggers would press. The six enemy marines were blown all over the corridor. Some were violently decapitated, others had the front of their suits caved in by incessant pounding of high-speed bullets. Just behind where the splattered marines now lay, was a heavy double-blast door.  
  
Bingo: the datanet was here. They stormed the room, having to blow open the doors with not just one but three C-4 charges. Once in, they fanned out with military precision, methodically slaughtering anyone within. Then one of the marines, one Tech Sgt. Amir Vondoska, walked to the computers, already pulling something out of a small pack carried beneath his armour's chestplate. It turned out to be a hacker's disc, no larger than a compact disc from Earth's older history. Once inserted into the disk drive of any computer, it would automatically copy anything that occupied that computer's memory. Vondoska slid the disc in, and tapped a few keys on the keyboard console, waiting.  
  
After about two minutes, he removed the disc, and stowed it, turning to Raynor. "Mission accomplished, sir," he said, his voice light and tinny. Raynor nodded once, satisfied, and then motioned them to pull out, double- time.  
  
As they ran through the complex, retracing their steps to get back out again, Raynor activated his helmet-comm, radioing up their success to the ship. "Hey, we've found the plans, man!" His voice was tinged with excitement, and a wonder of just what it was that they stole. "Have the transports waitin' when we come out." They didn't encounter any resistance on the way out, and about fifteen minutes later they tore out the front gates as though the hounds of hell were on their tails. They pelted up the ramps to the dropships, and Raynor barked an order to the pilots: "Get us out of here!"  
  
** ** **  
  
Aboard the Hyperion, Mengsk stood together with Yates, now on the bridge of the mighty ship. As yet unintroduced, Kerrigan stood unobtrusively in the shadows at the portside-aft side of the bridge, surveying everything with a cool air. Her bright green eyes, augmented by the powerful elements of her HEV suit, swept over Yates, measuring him up. She'd already seen Commander Raynor, though only through the closed-circuit monitors at the aft of the bridge. A shiver ran through her, and she had to fight off the immediate feelings she felt stirring for him. (Stop it!) she told herself fiercely. (You're a soldier, and this is war. you have no time to fall in love with anyone!)  
  
But yet, as she heard the transmission from Raynor signifying a successful mission, her heart sped up ever so slightly, despite her efforts to contain it. Now she stood, watching, as the trio of dropships headed back up to orbit, hauling ass like a bat out of hell itself. She'd felt a stir of fear and anger when Raynor had reported the sighting of the Zerg, that was for sure. But, now that they were about to abandon this god- forsaken world, she began to feel better.  
  
Just a little bit.  
  
** ** **  
  
In the wake of the chaos resulting from the Zerg invasion, the Sons of Korhal escaped Mar Sara with the stolen Confederate data.  
  
The Sons of Korhal, with Yates, Keller, and Raynor in tow, fled to the border colony of Antiga Prime, to plan their next crucial moves against the Confederacy.  
  
Thirteen hours after the evacuation of Mar Sara, Protoss warships took up high orbit around the colony and unleashed a massive planetary barrage.  
  
All life upon the surface was extinguished. 


End file.
